Yesterday I spent the afternoon at our country church vacuuming and decking the halls for the Christmas season. All churches are special but this one is especially so.

Central Bible Church, located one mile north of our farm headquarters, was Central School until 1961. Jason’s paternal great grandmother, Mae, taught school there until the doors closed and it reopened as the church.

There are still several of Mae’s former students around the area and they all assure me that whatever stories I’ve heard about Mae’s strict, no-nonsense teaching style…they’re all true.

The pastor at Central is Jerry Allen, one of the kindest men I’ve known. In addition to baptising Jason, Jerry baptised Jason’s father, married his father and mother, and delivered the sermon at his father’s funeral six years ago. He has also married a number of other family members and presided at some of the family’s most important events. He wears a tie tack with a black and white photo of his late wife as a young woman upon it. I can’t help but think that she is with him during his sermons and funerals and she brings good luck to the pulpit when he performs weddings.

It’s an amazing thing each Sunday to sit in the pew that overlooks farmground and to sing some of the same old hymns that Mae sang in the same church.

Some may think that faith is old fashioned and that old fashioned church services are outdated.  But I can tell you that from where I sit each Sunday, the faith runs as deep as the family roots in this area.

Regardless of what happens elsewhere, we’ll spend our Sundays in that sunny room, praying for moisture and looking forward to potluck dinners and continuing to write our family’s history in the parched, dusty ground of eastern Colorado.

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